


Odessa

by hauntedd



Category: The Americans (TV 2013)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 13:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17101766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedd/pseuds/hauntedd
Summary: Their lives, after it all.





	Odessa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raisintorte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raisintorte/gifts).



**I.**

Their homecoming is anything but a welcome one. Arkady provides them with an apartment and a large pension but encourages them to embrace their homeland, keep busy, but not _too_ busy. The Center wishes for them to take desk jobs, menial labor—it’s meant as a kindness, but it feels like an insult. 

Elizabeth hates their accommodations, but they refused the other option—a posting in Odessa, outright. Instead, they settle near Moscow in their Center-funded apartment, pretending to be grateful. The train passes twice a day and each time the horn blows, it takes another part of her with it. Though they haven’t talked about their children since Rouses Point beyond the flimsy lies they’ve told themselves about how they've found one another, Elizabeth knows that Philip is just as broken by Paige’s decision. 

They’d get used to it, she’d said that first night. How naïve she was. 

Instead of falling into a routine, or embracing an ever evolving Russia, her mind constantly wanders to what life might have been like had they defected back when they had the chance. They’d be together, the four of them, instead of separated by oceans and fractured by her many mistakes.

After a month, Gabriel arrives at their door, food in tow. A part of her wants to slam it shut. If he and Claudia hadn’t convinced her to bring Paige into the fold; if she’d just listened to Philip and they’d left back when they had the chance, things would be different now. 

But her children are in America and Philip is in front of her inviting Gabriel inside, before she has the chance to object.

It throws her off balance. Hadn’t Philip felt the same? Then again, she realizes, they hadn’t truly spoken much since arriving, the silence filling the space where Paige should have been. He leaves during the day and she stays here—the irony of Philip trying his best to embrace their circumstances while she retreats inward isn’t lost on her.

“Nadezhda. Mikhail. It’s been far too long,” Gabriel says. “I brought Solyanka.”

Elizabeth blinks, then adjusts, falling into routine as she takes the dish from him. Years of practice as the perfect American wife have made this act a habit. “I’ll take it.”

“So, what brings you here?” Philip asks, overly congenial. A momentary warmth rushes over her—if she closes her eyes, she can imagine herself back in Falls Church, the two of them flitting around the kitchen with the parents of one of Paige's or Henry’s friends that neither of them can stand.

“I wanted to come. See how you were adjusting. The Center is grateful for all your years of service.” Gabriel says. Elizabeth frowns, reading between the lines. The Center wants something and sent Gabriel to gauge their interest. Philip shoots her a look; his thoughts mirror her own. “You both have sacrificed so much for the cause, and we’re eternally grateful.”

Elizabeth scoffs before she can help herself. She’s grown far less guarded as the reality of their circumstances has set in. Philip brushes her hip with his palm—he’ll handle it, he says without saying a word. She raises an eyebrow, but allows him to take the lead.

“Yes. We’ve lost a lot—”

“It’s not easy, losing a child. Typically, we’d have operatives watching them and providing us updates, but with the interest in your case, it’s proven difficult.”

Elizabeth balks. Intellectually, she knows this would be a likely outcome. Perhaps before Claudia's manipulations in an effort to disrupt the summit, she might have found it comforting. But in the wake of all that’s happened, it turns her stomach. Her children are unaware and unprotected from what her people, their people, truly are. 

She turns toward Philip, sensing the contained rage that vibrates off of him. She has to step in before his emotions take over, so she tags in with a twist of her wedding ring. His eyes plead for her to tread carefully. She nods almost imperceptibly.

“We appreciate the Center’s willingness to look after them, but that’s not necessary.”

Gabriel looks at the two of them with sad, knowing eyes. Elizabeth shifts slightly, uncomfortable with where this conversation is headed. “Paige was training to be one of us. It stands to reason she might—”

“And who’s fault is that?” Philip snaps, slipping into English, no longer able to control his temper. Elizabeth jumps slightly, but doesn't interrupt. This isn't a mission anymore, it's their life. In fact, all she can muster is a sense of relief, knowing that she’s not the only one who resents the Center and all that's happened as a result. 

“Paige won’t talk,” Elizabeth cuts in smoothly, engaging in a dance they’ve done thousands of times before. Only this time she's not trying to fool Americans, but her former handler. But unlike Claudia, she's uncertain which side he's on. That he hasn't tried to kill them bodes well, though neither of them will actually eat the Solyanka. “Besides, she doesn’t know anything of value.”

“Are you certain of that?” Gabriel asks, his question cuts at her like a knife. From Philip's sharp intake of breath, she knows he feels it too. 

Elizabeth glares at him, knowing exactly what he isn’t saying. They didn’t know she’d step off the train, how can they guarantee this? 

The truth is, they can’t. She knows the limits of Paige’s training, filling her head with war stories and Tchaikovsky. Elizabeth and Claudia sold her a version of their work that was glamorous and harmless—one that was painfully inaccurate and may have caused Paige to leave in the end.

 _You’re a whore._ Elizabeth inwardly cringes at the memory of Paige’s words in their kitchen. Maybe she was, though not in the traditional sense. She'd told the truth when she'd said that the sex didn't mean anything to her. But by selling her soul piece by piece for her country—one that she’s not entirely sure ever truly existed in the first place—she's likely the biggest whore of them all. 

The silence stretches as the tension between the three of them grows. These pauses are uncomfortable to her now, after years in America, where everyone tries to fill them with words.

“Why are you here, Gabriel?” Philip asks, finally.

Gabriel smiles, his age showing in the lines that have altered the topography of his skin. “To see how you’re adjusting, like I said. You’ve declined all the options you’ve been given for work. You barely leave the apartment—it’s not good to be alone with your thoughts.”

“We’re fine. Really.” Elizabeth says.

“You’re not.” Gabriel states, matter of fact. “Consider taking one of the assignments. It could be good to have something to keep you busy. And, when you’re ready, start using your true names in private, as well as in public. The longer you cling to your old covers, the longer it will take to fully readjust. I wouldn't want any additional undue harm to come to you after all that you've done for your country.”

Elizabeth starts to object. Elizabeth Jennings is the only thing she still has left that ties her to her children and she doesn't want to lose that part of herself, but Philip places a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from speaking. “We’ll think about it.”

He regards the two of them for a moment, then nods. “Good. Well, I must be going. Enjoy the food and I’ll be back next week to hear what you’ve decided.”

Elizabeth watches him leave. She turns on the faucet and discards the food, then turns to Philip. Her eyes are wild and her body is tense, gearing up for a fight.

“You’re not seriously considering—”

“Yes,” he interrupts.

“Philip—"

“ _Mischa_ ,” he corrects. “Call me Mischa, Nadezhda.”

“I won’t do that,” Elizabeth spits and Philip recoils, immediately aware of his misstep. Irina looms large over their marriage, even years later. She supposes if Gregory were still alive, he might as well. Perhaps he still does. But it's not truly why she objects. Philip is as much of a tether to their old lives as Elizabeth is and she can't understand his willingness to shed it so quickly.

“Fine. Mikhail. I don’t care. But we have to do this—go by our birth names. Become those people.” It’s not lost on her that Philip considers his cover more real than their Russian identities, that Mikhail and Nadezhda are things to become, not who they truly are.

The KGB wanted them to become Americans when they sent them there. Perhaps, in coming home to Russia, they succeeded.

“Why?”

“It’s the only way we have a chance to protect them, protect Paige,” Philip rushes out. Elizabeth follows his line of reasoning, realizing immediately that it’s sound. “Gabriel came to warn us, not threaten us. The Center is wary of her, and she’s out there, all alone, unprotected. Henry has Stan, but Paige? She doesn't have anyone, and all that rah-rah Russia training she got from you and Claudia won't help her now. So, we have to cooperate. Otherwise they'll make us any way they can.”

Elizabeth frowns. It hadn't simply been movies and stories. They'd practiced combat skills in the garage. Paige knew how to drop a tail, do basic surveillance. But he's right. Paige can't defend herself against a trained operative. She doesn't know what's been asked of her parents and all that they've done over the years to protect their covers and their family. If the Center wanted to, they could kill her.

“What do we need to do?” She asks, running a hand through her hair, as she looks at him. He picks up on the nervous tick and pulls her into his arms. She relaxes against him for a moment, only to tense up again when he answers.

“Whatever they ask.”

**II.**

St. Edwards stands in the distance, illuminated by moonlight, and Paige heads toward it like a beacon. She’s spent a month and a half in hiding, trying to get her bearings after Rouses Point. She’d wanted more time, but the money and the vodka were wearing thin, and, if she’s being honest with herself, she needs to stop avoiding the inevitable.

Of course, if she _truly_ is honest with herself, the most expedient way to move forward would be to show up on Stan’s doorstep. She’d considered it briefly, when she snuck back to D.C. and Claudia’s safehouse, but didn’t have the nerve to go through with it, despite the three shots of vodka she’d taken to build courage. In the end, she wasn’t ready for a move that ends in a jail sentence, or at least a long litany of questions that Paige is unable, or unwilling, to answer. So, instead, she lurks in the woods outside of St. Edwards, tracking the surveillance detail on Henry, waiting for her opportunity. 

She checks her watch again – 8:47. It won’t be long now—the night shift gets here in three minutes and they don’t truly start until 9, giving her about six minutes where the agents compare notes and debrief one another. It’s enough. In fact, her window of opportunity is slightly larger than it might have been a few weeks ago. The agents have grown lazy and disinterested. Paige guesses that watching her brother isn’t the most exciting assignment. 

The crisp New England air burns her lungs as she inhales, trying as best she can to calm her nerves. She’s not afraid of the agents, but Henry’s reaction. Her mind stills as she rubs her thumb and forefinger together— _to remind herself who she is and where she came from_ her parents’ voices echo in her head, and she jerks her fingers apart and opens her eyes, immediately catching sight of Claudia, disguised in a grey wig, glasses, and a scarf, approaching with a frown on her face.

Paige pales. Shit.

“Hello Paige.” 

“My mom told me you left,” Paige says, feigning relief. She’s not her parents, she still struggles with deceit, and right now she wishes she were better at it. It’s clear that Claudia doesn’t buy it and she finds herself rubbing her fingers together again, though she’s unsure who she is, anymore.

“I intended to, before your parents ill-timed departure.” Claudia says, humoring her. Paige bites her bottom lip, trying her best to ignore the pit in her stomach that’s quickly evolving into a black hole.

“What are you doing here?”

“Come now,” Claudia sighs, annoyed. “You know the answer to that.”

“You’ve been watching me, haven’t you?” Paige asks, a part of her still seeking her approval, and she knows that Claudia fancies herself a sort-of teacher in their dealings with one another. So, she reverts to the role of an eager student, although she now knows that the cost of Claudia’s approval is far too much for her conscience to bear.

“Yes. It seems impulsivity is a family trait, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’m _nothing_ like them.”

Paige spits, not yet willing to give up on her anger toward her parents just yet. If she lets that go completely, she'll be forced to face her reality, that she chose loneliness and her principles above all else.

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. You’re exactly like them, especially _her_.” Claudia spits the last word like fire. The level of venom surprises her—she’d thought they were on good terms. The hairs rise on the back of her neck. If Claudia hates her mother, she's not safe here. Maybe she'd never been safe at all.

However, Paige can’t help herself. She has to know, and immediately tries to pry open Pandora’s box, consequences be damned. “You hate her, don’t you? Why?”

Claudia takes a moment to respond and Paige can see the weariness creeping into the crevices of her face. It’s not simply the wig—she looks older and far more exhausted than Paige has ever noticed. “She abandoned her people—chose Gorbachev’s pipe dreams and signed my country’s death warrant in the process.”

Paige blinks, trying to process. Her _mother_ disobeyed orders? She has so many questions, but before she can ask a follow-up, Claudia’s handwaving it all away.

“Never mind all that. You have a choice of your own to make.”

“I already chose—”

“Not that sort of choice, my dear,” Claudia interrupts and Paige snaps her mouth shut. “I was sent to kill you.”

Her eyes widen as she tenses. Claudia’s tone is far too matter of fact for her taste and Paige knows, deep down, that she means it. Her mind wanders to those training sessions with her mom—did she know this was a possibility? Was she training her for this moment?

Paige cringes. Her fists can’t stop a gun, especially not one fired by someone who knows what they're doing. She shifts and unclenches her fists. She thinks of her father in the garage with Stan and tries words instead. “But I didn’t _do_ anything!”

“And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Now you’re here, _alone_ , a loose end in dire need of cutting.” Claudia condescends and it takes all Paige has to not try and knock the smirk off of her face.

She pauses, then looks towards St. Edwards. It stands as a silent reminder of who’s left inside. If she’s going to die out here, the least she can do is spare Henry the same fate.

“And Henry?”

“Henry’s ignorant and too closely protected,” she answers. Paige lets out a sigh and the knot in her stomach lessens, only to tighten again with Claudia's next sentence. “You, on the other hand, are neither.”

Paige freezes as the harsh truth of it all washes over her. She’d wanted Henry to have someone who could explain, give him perspective, and now—Paige shakes her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. Her parents had each other, Henry had Stan and Renee, but she's the lone wolf, without a pack, and unlikely to survive the impending winter.

“So, you’re gonna shoot me? Leave me out here for my brother to find?” She rubs her fingers together again and thinks of her father's unwillingness to have her go down this path, and how he'd managed to save the three of them when everything was closing in all around them. She came, in part, from him. Which means she’s capable of saving herself. “If that was your plan, you’d have done it already.”

Claudia nods approvingly, pleased with Paige’s deductive skills. “I was, at first. In fact, a part of me relished the idea. Destroy what Elizabeth loves the most as retribution for what she’d done. But, after I thought about it, I realized that was terribly short sighted.”

“What do you mean?” Paige whispers her question, unsure if she’s supposed to voice it, though that’s never stopped her before. 

“Nothing could destroy your parents more completely than what you’ve already done.” Claudia answers with something that sounds a bit like pride. It gnaws at her, the knowledge that her choice to stay is being used as a tool to get to them. Paige didn’t mean it like that—she wasn’t sure what she meant when she stepped off that train, exactly, but she hadn't wanted to hurt her parents, not really. The combination of anger and the crippling reality of leaving was just too much to process in that moment and she’d done the only thing she felt she could—run.

The problem is that she's not sure what she's running to, or running from.

“Excuse me?”

“Leaving your mother and father like that. I hear it broke her.” Claudia smirks and Paige looks downward, trying to ignore the guilt that wants to escape from the deep recesses of her soul where she’d buried it. “If it hasn’t yet, it will. The uncertainty of not knowing what’s become of you is far worse than your death. At least then she might have an answer.”

Claudia inches closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. Paige wants to shake it off, but knows she shouldn’t. Not when her life hangs in the balance. “You must have truly despised them to condemn them to that.”

Paige’s eyes water and this time, she can’t swallow fast enough to prevent a few tears from falling. She doesn’t hate them. Even though she's furious at them both, she misses them, and their old life, the one that's disappeared into evidence boxes and fragmented into pieces with oceans and walls between them. “I—” 

“Please spare your excuses and justifications. We haven’t the time.” Claudia snaps, and Paige swallows, forcing her tears back as best she can. “As for the matter at hand. If you go through those gates, or seek out Henry, I will be forced to do what I’ve been asked.”

“I’m not scared.” She tries, but fumbles over her words. They both know the truth—Paige is terrified.

Claudia tsks at her and Paige’s cheeks flush at the criticism. “You are. Sadly, your American upbringing has rendered you both weak and transparent.” 

The older woman regards her for a moment, growing contemplative. “I fought for you, Paige. Back when you were a girl, I thought you might make a fine agent one day, but this country leaves its stench on us all. Perhaps in another life, a different version of you might face the prospect of death with dignity, but you’re not as tough as you think.”

“What do you want me to do, then? Go back to spying?”

“No,” Claudia answers. “The Center has no use for you now that your parents have put our entire operation at risk. What I want is for you to disappear.”

“Disappear?” Her heart sinks. She’d stayed because this is all she’s ever known, and now she’s supposed to fade away? Start over in another place where no one knows her? Start over without _Henry_?

“Those are your options. You take this and remake your life somewhere else. Or you continue this fool’s errand of reuniting with your brother. Perhaps you might get close before the bullet lodges itself in your back. But know that it’ll come. Likely from someone who is far less fond of you than I.”

“You mean I won’t ever see my famil— _Henry_ , again?” She corrects her slip too late. Claudia notices, and gives her a knowing look. 

“You could have prevented that, had you stayed on the train. But you chose America. And sadly, she didn’t choose you.” 

Claudia stares at her for a moment, then two, and Paige doesn’t care that she’s crying now. She has nothing—no Henry, no Mom, no Dad, and no plan. She frowns and takes the envelope. Claudia nods and leaves, fading into the darkness, though Paige knows she’s not truly gone.

Silently, Paige stands rooted in place, staring at St. Edwards and rubbing her thumb with her forefinger. It feels strange, now, when all she has left are her memories and nothing to root her anywhere at all.

**III.**

In the end, what was asked of them wasn’t much at all. The Center wants them to handle training for new recruits, teach them about America and all its ills. At some point she assumes they will want more from them, but not now. There are too many factions vying for power as Gorbachev remakes their country in his image. It’s like looking at America from a funhouse mirror, Nadezhda thinks. He wants to become like the west so badly, but his impression is distorted and built on a faulty foundation that could rot at any moment.

Philip—no, Mikhail, hadn’t noticed at first. They’d fallen into a routine of training agents, all fresh-faced and far too eager for her liking, and at times it was easy to ignore the chaos that was sprouting all around them. It was also far safer, with members of different factions growing ill and disappearing whenever they fell out of favor.

No one had a plan, it seemed. But power was the one currency that was constant, and Eliza— _Nadezhda_ was determined to have enough of it to achieve their ends, regardless of who was in charge.

She’d gone into this work for love of her country and its people, but it’s love of her children that drives her now. The only way they have a chance of seeing them again is to do what’s necessary now, while no one is watching, to have enough power when the Soviet Union heads for what, they think, is an inevitable collapse.

Mikhail handles the business, much like he’d done back at the travel agency, and she handles the work. Her recruits are always top performers when they're released into the world at large, and the Center never looks too closely into their dealings. They build a quiet empire of illegal imports and invest in fossil fuels, never showing their hand. If anyone investigates them, they’re loyal to the cause. The tragic story of the two illegals who lost their children deters anyone from looking too closely.

“Pyotr got in touch with me,” Mikhail says one afternoon between sessions, after turning on the radio. They carve out lunch as private time, one of many holdovers from the States. They'd often use lunch as an excuse to talk about their targets back when they ran Dupont Circle Travel, and no one questions the practice here. The Center believes it further acclimates the recruits to their future American lives. She frowns—his brother had never been part of the plan.

“All the way from Tobolsk?” Nadezhda asks, treading carefully. She forgets, sometimes, that he still has family here, instead of simply the one they’ve left behind.

“Yes.” He answers, twisting his wedding band, which she immediately picks up on. He’s nervous about something. “It seems my son, my _other_ son, is with him.”

She hums to herself, aware that he’s asking for permission. From the way that he looks at her, she knows that what he truly wants is a chance to meet Mischa. A part of her is jealous that he has family he can see and touch, a child who is safe, and _here_ , but she won’t deny him. 

“You should go see them. Go to Tobolsk.”

“And say what?”

She shrugs, unsure how to answer. She hadn’t been able to say anything to Henry that last night, instead letting Philip take the lead. It’s one of the many regrets she harbors about their departure, and she'd give anything for another chance to say goodbye. “I’m sure you’ll find the right words. You always do.”

“Not anymore, not since…”

He trails off and she doesn’t need for him to fill in the blanks. Though they’ve found a path forward, neither of them is truly whole. Their hearts are perpetually shattered in two, carved apart by the Atlantic and held by the children on the other side of it. 

“You’ll figure it out.”

It sounds similar to another line she'd told him, one she thinks of often and can never shake. _We’ll get used to it_. They will never truly get used to it.

“And what about Henry?” Philip asks—and it’s truly Philip now, not Mikhail. When they talk about their children and what their lives might be like now, she can’t think of them as anything other than Philip and Elizabeth Jennings. “Aren’t I just replacing the son I lost with the one I’ve never met.”

Elizabeth’s quiet for a moment, mulling it over, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together, the old trick they’d taught Paige to help her discern between the truth and fiction. The problem is that nothing is fictional anymore, there are no covers to navigate, only life and its complexities. 

“No,” she says, finally. “You’re not replacing Henry or Paige. That’s impossible. But you shouldn’t let what happened keep you from meeting him.” 

Philip sighs, nervous. He’s watching her, a million thoughts playing out on his face, all of them unreadable to her. “Will you come with me, to Tobolsk?”

She takes his hand in hers and caresses it. “If you want me to go, I’ll go.”

Philip nods, his relief palpable. She understands it, the need to remain together—their family is already separated enough. The thought of being alone with a thirty-hour distance between them feels too much to bear, even if it's temporary. It also leaves them vulnerable, should Claudia and her faction finally wish to enact revenge for all she hadn't done.

“I’ll book the tickets in the morning.”

“And you thought you’d gotten out of the travel business,” she jokes. He smiles, his grin stretching across his face, and he pulls her close, kissing her.

It’s the lightest she’s felt in months.

**IV.**

Even after a year, Renee still finds herself staring at the Jennings’ house more often than she’d care to admit. For all their infamy, their fate has caused her to rethink her choices. She considers that perhaps what she wants most is a sign that she’s not facing a similar fate. 

Often, she wonders if she’s being paranoid. Dresden hadn’t provided her with the same levels of training as the Russian illegals, so Renee’s always second guessing her instincts. But there’s nothing for her to go on, no instruction manual to reference. They didn’t prepare her for the possibility that Stan might suspect something, or that there were illegals living next door. 

It was sold to her as glamorous, necessary, and likely harmless work. Transport herself to a foreign country and weave her way into it while gathering intelligence on the Americans. She hadn’t needed the sales pitch—escaping her violent father was enough of an incentive. Renee chooses to ignore the fact that in doing so, she’d left her mother unprotected.

Renee had always chosen self-preservation first. Which is why when the calls come, she ignores them. Telemarketers speaking in coded words and phrases, all variations on the same theme—the Center wishes to activate her and pick up where Philip and Elizabeth left off.

After the twenty-seventh “wrong number” the calls stop. Stan’s silent vigil doesn’t. It makes her uncomfortable, the knowledge that he suspects her, and the space that’s grown between them. In truth, she’s grown quite fond of him, and she’s fairly certain that she loves all the broken parts of him that remain in the wake of the Jennings’ departure.

That hadn’t been the plan. But her heart is a muscle like any other, and that too didn’t receive the training necessary to protect against the possibility of Stan Beeman worming his way inside. So, she does the only thing she can—slink further into her American life, wearing it like a second skin, leaving no room for memories of the life she’d left behind.

When she feels more optimistic, she thinks of Henry, who stays with them over summers and holidays, and smiles. Stan served as safe harbor for him, perhaps he’d be the same for her, if only she were willing to share her secrets with him.

“I chose you,” she whispers, one night when she thinks he’s sleeping. It’s the closest she gets to bravado. 

“I know,” Stan mutters, rolling over in his sleep. “I chose you, too.”

“You knew?” She asks, her hands shaking. In that moment Renee realizes just how shitty of a spy she’d have made, had she answered differently when they tried to activate her. 

“I didn’t. Not for sure. Philip suggested it, back when I let them go. But I—I didn’t want it to be true.” Stan says and his tone causes her heart to beat wildly in her chest. She tries to steady her breath but fails miserably, her nerves getting the best of her. She replays what he’s just said— _he let them go_ —and relaxes slightly. If he'd let them go, he wasn't about to call up his coworkers and report her in the middle of the night.

He turns toward her, eyes shining with what she knows are unshed tears. It causes her stomach to drop as the guilt seeps in. “Do you regret it? Us?”

“You’re the only part of this I don’t regret.” Renee answers quickly, shocking herself with the weight of what she’s said. “I love you. I don’t think they expected that. I know I didn’t.”

“I know that too.” Stan answers with a tentative smile. She bites her lip to keep her own smile from spreading, and instead squeezes his hand. “So, tell me something real.”

Renee does.

**V.**

The Wall falls. Their marriage doesn’t, it’s far firmer than it’s ever been. At times it seems that’s the only thing that’s stable in Moscow. As the private squabbles grow public and different factions vie for power, Nadezhda and Mikhail find themselves uniquely positioned to profit from the capitalist inroads that are remaking Russia into a nation that neither of them recognize. 

It helps that they’d started angling for this eventuality long before anyone else and Mikhail’s family had eagerly stepped in to assist. Tobolsk _did_ have plenty of oil to export, if you knew how to market it. It helps that Pyotr, like his brother, is well liked.

Nadezhda thinks back to when she was young and starving in Smolensk. Her mother would hate what she’s become, but she finds that she doesn’t care. The world is cruel and so are her circumstances, so they take what they can however they can manage it.

When the dust settles, she and Mikhail find themselves one of the few atop the rubble of what the Soviet Union had once been. The first thing they buy, once its safe to acknowledge their wealth, is a set of new names, papers and all.

The second is investment property in Miami. 

It’s a start.

**VI.**

After two years in hiding, wearing her new identity like a coat that’s three sizes too big, Paige finds herself back in Virginia and ready to come clean. The Berlin Wall came crashing down and took her resolve to stay away along with it.

She assumes there are more important things for the KGB to concern themselves with these days. Besides, she’s sick of being alone and scared. Though now that she’s here, standing on Stan’s doorstep and staring at her old house, she’s not sure if she’s made the right choice.

What if they _are_ still watching her? Would Henry be ok? Would she? She doesn’t want to die, even if she hasn’t truly lived since jumping off the train.

She inhales, squares her shoulders, and knocks. After a moment, there’s Stan, his hair more grey than blond, and from the look on his face she’s positive she’s made a mistake.

“Paige? What’re you doing here?” Stan asks, sizing her up. She shifts in her threadbare jacket, trying not to shiver as the spring chill cuts into her. Claudia hadn’t bothered to set her up with a social security card, just a new name and some cash. Paige kept the cash and trashed the paperwork. If she was going to stay hidden, she wouldn’t be using a name they could track.

Instead, she’d lifted a fake ID off of a girl who looked sort-of like her in a college town in Iowa and been Pam Jensen from Nebraska ever since.

“I—I shouldn’t have come,” she stammers. This was a mistake—the fake ID, and the fake life she'd built around it, would likely be another charge. Paige isn’t sure how many she’s inadvertently acquired over the years. All she’d wanted was to help people. Instead she really needed to help herself.

“I thought you went to Russia with your parents.” Stan says, his face still tinged with disbelief.

Paige sighs. “I made it to Rouses Point, but I couldn’t do it. Leave Henry like that.” 

She ignores the larger issue—she’d stayed for Henry, and wound up miserable and alone. She wonders if her parents at least have one another. She hopes so—after two years in seclusion, she wouldn’t wish that crippling loneliness on anyone, especially them. Any lingering resentment had faded long ago and now when Paige thinks of her parents it’s tinged with forgiveness and yearning for a reunion.

They were doing what they’d thought was right. The problem is that there’s no real right or wrong, in the end. Just people doing a job.

“Do you want to come in?” 

“No, I really shouldn’t. I—”

“Paige,” Stan interrupts. “You came here for a reason. The least you can do is accept my invitation. After everything you owe me that much.”

Paige cringes. He’s not wrong. She steps inside and tells him everything. When she’s done, she leaves with the knowledge that the FBI isn’t looking for her, along with a phone number and an address.

She’s not sure if she’s brave enough to call. But she might be, one day.

**VII.**

Russia stabilizes enough, and relations with America improve to the point where they finally feel comfortable with the possibility of reaching out. Henry had been easy enough to find, but not Paige, she'd proven more difficult. Elizabeth, she still considers herself to be Elizabeth Jennings, even after all this time, feels a bit of pride at that, knowing that at least Paige has taken some of what she's taught her and used it for her own protection. At first, she feels relief, knowing they’re both alive, but the longer she sits with that knowledge, the more resentful she grows.

Henry’s engaged now to some blonde girl with fake breasts and a too bright smile. She wonders if things might be different, had they been there.

She and Philip compose letters, develop an elaborate plan to get them to their children. However, they remain unsent, a growing pile that they keep on a bookshelf, along with the lone picture that they have of the four of them, which Philip had snuck in his back pocket. It's creased and fading, much like the memories of her children's voices.

She knows she should send them, try to reach out, but she can't bring herself to go through with it. Instead, she prefers the possibility of a reunion to the potential certainty that, if they do contact Henry and Paige, they might reject them and all their business dealings and the compromises they've made since arriving here would be for naught.

Though he won't admit it, she senses that Philip feels the same. That is until the letters disappear one morning and he squeezes her hand, as he whispers, "it's time."

**VIII.**

Paige finally works up her nerve after several false starts. She’s back in college, finishing up a degree in social work. Stan had been very clear during their talk—she could have her old life back, her old name, but she had to stay the hell away from politics.

She doesn’t mind, other than having to take a few classes over again, it’s not that bad. And, she feels it’s a small price to pay after everything. But she still wants to help people, so she’d fallen backwards into going for an MSW at American. It provides her with an opportunity to help people on a smaller scale, without worrying about politics and spy-craft. It suits her.

Henry, however, has gone far. Top of his class at Dartmouth, and now he’s some big-shot day trader in New York, investing in technology, which, according to an article about him in the Times, he thinks is the next big industry. She’s proud of him, and decides that he's stable enough that he can finally handle seeing her. Even if Paige is _extremely_ out of place in the lobby of his fancy apartment. But she still has the knowledge of her time with her mom, and she acts like she belongs, so no one questions her.

Paige makes her way up the elevator until she's standing at his door. She knocks and cringes at the look of pure disgust Henry shoots her when he opens it. She isn’t sure what she had expected, but it’s not this.

She probably should have expected it.

Henry lets her in anyway and they talk. Well, drink mostly, with some shouting weaved in. He plies her with vodka and she teaches him how to take a shot like Claudia had shown her, years back. His disgust fades into sadness and yearning for explanations.

She gives them to him as best she can. Finally, Henry hands her a stack of mail and her heart drops when he turns toward her.

“I get them every so often. Postcards and coded letters from places all over Europe—I think Mom and Dad are trying to reach out.”

Paige frowns. She’d gotten similar letters and burned them—she knows this is what they are, and she’s not sure she wants to face them, face her past, instead of running from it. “Henry, I—”

“Paige, please. They want us to visit. If you look at the cards from different angles, they give instructions on how to get in touch. I have to know, I have to see them.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? The government might—”

“The Cold War’s over. No one cares about that anymore. And I can’t have my last words to Mom and Dad be about a fucking ping pong tournament,” Henry interrupts. His eyes are searching hers, begging her to come. “Don’t make me do this alone, too.”

Paige wipes tears from the corners of her eyes, the guilt too much for her to handle. They’d thought they were doing the right thing, leaving him in New Hampshire, but maybe they hadn’t. For all his outward success, his beautiful blonde fiancée, Henry’s as fractured by everything as she is, even if the cracks are different.

“Ok.” Paige whispers, nervous. “And it could be worse, some of my last words to Mom were calling her a whore.”

Henry laughs at that and takes another shot. “I’m surprised she didn’t slap you.”

“I’m sure she wanted to,” Paige responds, taking another swig. She takes a moment, then looks at him. “I’m sorry it took so long to come.”

Henry shrugs. “At least you finally did.”

**IX.**

Odessa is beautiful this time of year, and it seems only fitting that they reunite here, where they'd once almost landed. Both she and Philip had arrived early to ensure that their accommodations were sufficient, or that’s the lie they’ve settled on. She can tell he’s nervous, the way he fiddles with his wedding ring and shifts his weight from side to side, not able to stay still.

Now that they’ve stopped spying, both of them have grown more obvious in their tells, though neither of them have faced anything quite like this.

Mischa went to the airport to pick them up. It had been Philip’s idea to give them time alone, grow acquainted. She thinks it’d been for her as well, this quiet before the storm. 

Elizabeth’s unsure what they’ll say, hell, she’s surprised that they’ve both come at all. But sure enough, she can see both of her children, older and jetlagged, seated in Mischa’s rental car as it comes into view.

She clutches Philip’s hand, digging her nails into his skin. They look at one another with unshed tears, and when Henry and Paige emerge, they fall freely. 

Their children are here, and they’re _alive_.

It might not have been exactly like her fantasies, but her family is together by the water in Odessa, after all.


End file.
